Not all Enemies are Overt
by juna-starrider
Summary: Boromir has gone missing, and Faramir is determined to find him. A bit dark and later chapters will be a bit bloody.
1. Default Chapter

**Not All Enemies Are Overt**

_Chapter 1:_

_The Green Seal_

Faramir slept fitfully under the old oak tree. Every so often, he would jerk to the sound of a horse whinnying, or the swish of a fellow ranger's boots in the long grass. Sleeping soundly was a luxury for a soldier, especially one stationed on the border.

He and his company had slew about a hundred Easterners earlier that morning, and had just finished disposing of the bodies. Now most of the rangers were taking well-deserved naps while a dozen or so kept a sharp eye out for enemies. It had been quite a successful attack; the only injury was a broken arm from Halmar falling off the tree he had been sitting. And even Halmar laughed it off, saying he shouldn't have drank so much ale the night before.

Faramir was awoken by the heavy clumping of horse's hooves on the ground. He opened his eyes and saw the messenger arrive into the camp.

_Odd, the reports aren't supposed to come in until next week_ though the young captain. He eased himself up from the rough bark and walked over to the nervous looking courier. He was handed only one thin letter. Instead of the usual red seal portraying the White Tree, the letter seal was a green one, with a mortar and pestle stamped into the wax. Faramir suddenly went numb. He knew that the seal came from the Houses of Healing, the place where only the sickest people were sent to. Had something happened to his father or his brother? He slowly broke the seal and quickly scanned the short letter.

_Fara,_

_I have just received word from the your Uncle Imrahil. Boromir has not arrived in Dol Amroth like he said he would. It's been a week since he departed from here and there's been no word from your him. It seems he has vanished. If you have seen him, please write back._

_Ioreth_

His held breath was exhaled slowly through his lips. It was worse, and yet, better than he thought. Ioreth seemed genuinely worried. After all, she was the closest thing to a mother the brothers had since Findulias had passed away. She could be a bit scatterbrained at times, but she knew the risks involved in being a soldier.

The young captain pondered at what he should. He had not seen Boromir for quite some time. The first thing to do was to write back, of course. _What_ he would write was a different thing altogether.

Should he tell her not to worry? Tell her that his brother was probably just being slow? That made no sense. Boromir was almost annoyingly true to his word. If he said he was going be somewhere by a certain day, he would, even if there were a thousand Mûmakil blocking his path.

Should he tell her to start a search party? Boromir was in mortal danger? That made even less sense. The armies of Mordor were strong, yet they could not have penetrated that far into Gondor. He stood there thinking, fingering with the pommel of his sword, and then, with a almost audible snap, strode towards his second-in-command.

"Menel, I need you to take over for a week or two," he said, "I have some ... business in Minas Tirith to complete at the moment." Faramir did not think it wise to reveal what his true reason was. He had a feeling he wasn't even supposed to know, being that his former nanny, not his father had written to him. He got his belongings together, mounted his horse, and rode off into the light of the setting sun.

Thanks for reading this. I'm sorry if this chapter is a little short, I'm not very good at writing multi-chapter stories. I've finished the whole story already, but I'll give this chapter a week to get read and reviewed. Then I can make changes to my later chapters. Plus, I hate my Title. If anyone has a antonym for "hidden" that would fit, tell me.


	2. A meeting of opposites

_Chapter 2:_

_A Meeting of Opposites_

"Get up!" a voice growled at Boromir as he felt a boot lodge in his stomach area. He groaned and opened eyes, then shut them again. He had a raging headache, and the dappled sunlight made it worse. He opened them again, but only halfway.

He sat up, and looked up at the owner of offending boot. From his position, the man looked tall, almost giant-like, but most likely he was shorter than Boromir was. His hair was a greasy chestnut, and he had a week-old beard. He was looking at Boromir with a mixture of contempt and mockery.

"Taking your time getting up, are you?" he spat at the young captive, "it's going to be a bit different for you now for a while," he shoved Boromir a rough wooden bowl filled with something that looked like pig slops, "Eat up, we have to keep you alive for when the Chief comes." And with that, he turned around and left.

Boromir looked at the bowl and started to eat with his hands. It was a bit hard, being that his hands were bound with very rough rope. He was surprised that he managed to swallowed the brown sludge without gagging. True, it looked disgusting, but as a soldier, he had eaten worse. Then he looked around the area. He was in a rough-looking camp, filled with rough-looking men. Most were just sitting around, talking to each other. From their accents, Boromir assumed they were from the southern part of Gondor. Where they were _now_ was a different problem. The prisoner closed his eyes and tried to recall what had happened.

He had been riding to Dol Amroth with a few companions. One of his cousins was getting married and since his father and brother were both occupied, he had volunteered to represent his side of the family. On the way they were attacked. The attack had come in the form of arrows, catching his friends off guard and quickly killing them. Boromir, who had been wearing a bit more protection, and had more of a soldiers instinct, had quickly gotten off the open road and into the bushes. After that... he couldn't quite remember. All he knew, he had been clubbed in the head, which accounted for his thundering headache and the rough cloth bandage on his head.

He finished off the bowl and wiped his hands on is pants, before closing his eyes and trying to get back to sleep. He was amazed that he wasn't panicking; perhaps the pain and the fatigue were dulling his emotions. He was about to settle into the painless world of dreams, when he heard something, the sound of voices.

He opened his eyes again, and saw a new man had arrived to the camp. He looked better than most of the other men, both physically and financially. He wore several gold rings on his fingers and his clothes were in very good condition. At the moment, he was talking to the swarthy man who had given him the bowl. He caught the conversation during the middle of it.

"...and he put a bit of a fight M'lud," the man was saying to the newcomer, "managed to knock off Khagres and Polknub before I managed to conk him out with a rock."

"You didn't permanently damage him, did you Jakers?" the rich man said dangerously, "he's no good to me if he's been incapacitated.

"No M'lud," the underling said a bit too quickly, "he's in perfect health. Got a wee bit of bump on the head, but nothing that time can't fix. He just got up, just before you got here." He then pointed to where Boromir sat. Both men strode towards him.

"I know who you are," said the new man, "that little insignia," he pointed towards Boromir chest, where the White Tree was engraved, "it gives your position away. Now, how are you feeling?" he asked in quasi-pleasantness. Boromir didn't answer him, he just glared. The chief ignored it and said, "my name is Delhar. I lead these men in our exploits."

Boromir couldn't resist the urge to snap "you mean, robbing, plundering, and murdering"

With the same mocking pleasantness, Delhar replied, "call it what you may. I prefer the term 'opportunity taking'. Yes we do sometimes have to take lives of course, but it's a necessary part of this business. You would know what I am talking about, since you're a soldier, aren't you?. But don't worry, we're not going to kill you, even though you've killed two of my men..."

"You slaughtered my friends," Boromir angrily cut in. Although in his heart he was proud that he had unknowingly cut down a few of those sons of ------

The leader ignored him. "You're worth more to me alive than dead. I suppose you are familiar with the term 'ransom'? Your father would be more than willing to pay anything for your safe return home, I believe." He smiled a fussy smile and abruptly turned to Jakers. "I want him kept alive and healthy," he ordered, "I'll write the ransom note. If all goes according to plan, by the next full moon we'll be the richest men on this side of the Misty Mountains. He started to walk away, but then turned towards Boromir. "If you even think about trying to escape," his threatened, all of the pleasantness gone "your father might not get you back in one piece." He strode off, followed by Jakers.

Boromir sighed and rested his head. He knew this was going to be a very long week.


End file.
